"A while ago you called me a brave man and a good scout; and, because I'm both, your people have set a price on me.

Five hundred dollars--alive or dead!" He laughed; a hoarse, harsh travesty of mirth, and added, with a lip that curled in withering contempt: "Alive or dead! A gentleman and a scout!--for just half the price of one good, sound nigger! By Heaven, it makes me proud!" Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison looked across the table at his prisoner, and answered gravely, yet with a touch of sternness in his military tone: "You are more than a scout, Cary.

You've carried dispatches, and intercepted ours; for both of which, if taken, you would have been a prisoner of war, no more.

But you've entered our lines--not in a uniform of gray, _but blue_--and you've cost us the loss of two important battles." "And had you done the same," returned the Southerner, "for you it would have meant promotion.

I've served my cause as best I could; in the saddle or the rifle pit; in the woods, or creeping through your lines.
If I've cost you a battle, my life is a puny price to pay, and I'd pay it without a sigh." He paused and sank into his seat.